Aligned Perception
by geradsredskittle666
Summary: Sherlock returns from the dead and John doesn't see his death the way Sherlock thinks he should. Warnings: depression, grief. Pairings: John/Sherlock Friendship, John/Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

Aligned perception

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of its related property. I make no profit from this. I write to entertain.

Warnings:

Summery: Sherlock finds that John doesn't see his death the way Sherlock does.

START

It was unnervingly anti-climatic. Sherlock had unlocked the door to his beloved 221B Bakers Street with surprise and dread. Why hadn't John changed the locks?

He felt something similar to guilt but pushed that away. His (fake) death had saved Johns life. What more could he do to prove his friendship? Still the flat had barely changed. It was in worse condition that he had ever seen it (and wasn't that saying something?). The air smelt stale and dust had settled on the surfaces. The furniture hadn't changed but looked disused, other than the sofa in front of the tv. His violin and its music stand by the window hadn't been moved but rather covered in a sheet. He had no doubt that it was in the same pristine condition that it had always been kept in.

Sherlock's room looked the same. Like he had merely popped down the get some groceries. It made him feel uneasy. When someone died you usually packed up their stuff in boxes, left it for a grieving parent to take away and leave to gather dust in an attic. John had left it here. Maybe he hadn't moved on yet.

"Just take what you wanted and leave! I don't have the patience to deal with a thief today. If your thinking of killing me, go right a head. See if I care." he heard John call out. John sounded weary, older than he should. He heard John limp over to the room. "I mean it! Nice touch with the coat." Watson said sarcasticly. "I'm not in the mood for a prank. I bet Donovan or Anderson came up with this little prank." he said tiredly again.

Sherlock turned around to study Watson. Watson had lost weight. Too much weight. He had a haunted look in his eyes and he clung wearily onto the cane he had been using when they had met. He hadn't been taking care of himself. That much was clear. Something must have happened...

Sherlock expected many reactions from his friend. Maybe anger. Maybe happiness. Maybe even shock. John merely looked him over and turned away, making his way to the kitchen. While he made tea (for one), he spoke sounding old. "Look I don't care what you want. Your dead. You jumped off that roof. Leave it at that." he said as calmly as if they were talking about the weather.

The consulting detective couldn't help feeling hurt. "I came back for you. I thought you would be happy to see me. I only pretended to die so I could protect you. And Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. Surely you knew?" he asked trying to keep his voice steady.

Watson glared back. There was the anger. "You thought I knew?" he said a deceptively calm tone. Sherlock found that he unconsciously stepped back from Watson. "How could I? I saw your body. I SAW the paramedics check for life. I SAW you fall from a height that not even you could survive. I HEARD your suicide note. What else was I to think?" he said in a soft angry voice that filled the room and left no room for argument.

Sherlock found he was looking away, feeling wetness on cheeks. He tried to speak to defend himself but found no words. No excuses. Was he the reason John was like this?

He should have been touched by that sentiment. Instead he felt immense guilt. If John was this way, what of his other friends? Mrs Hudson? Lestrade? Molly? Had his death been for the best?

Watson seemed to have calmed down and was looking at him curiously. "At least your back." he had simply said. "My shrink might have the shock of her life. I don't think people coming back to life was part of her hypothesis." Watson said laughing dryly.

Sherlock frowned. "You told your therapist about me?" he asked surprised.

Watson rolled his eyes. "Of course. She thinks I'm psychotic. Always knew she was wrong." he expanded.

John sipped his tea, taking some pills from the containers he had left on the counter with a practised ease.

Sherlock frowned in disapproval. Rather than ask, he approached Watson again. He eyed the pill bottles – an anti depressant and an anti psychotic. "Why do you still take the medication if you don't believe her?" he asked carefully.

"Think logically. That is of course your strength. I saw your body on the pavement. The medical staff told me you were dead. I saw the medical reports. What else could the truth be?" Watson replied easily. "You should know the mind can conjure up what it wants should the circumstances fit."

"You think I'm a delusion?" Sherlock asked in concern.

Watson shook his head. "Delusions don't open doors with keys." he merely stated.

"I don't suppose I could still stay here?" he asked tentatively.

Watson shrugged. "You live here. I don't see why not?" he said tiredly. If Watson cared, he didn't show it.

Sherlock merely frowned but would pursue it later.

 **AN:** R and R.


	2. Chapter 2

Aligned perception

AN: I don't own Sherlock, its characters or any related property. I don't own the Sherlock books or its related property. I write to entertain and make no profit from this work.

Warnings: depression, eating difficulty, grief, reference to suicide.

Pairings: Sherlock/John friendship at start then Sherlock/John relationship

START

It was long past dinner time and Sherlock had only just emerged from his room. Watson had fallen asleep on the lounge. Sherlock noted that the surfaces were just as dusty as before and no cutlery or plates were sitting in the sink. Watson hadn't eaten.

Sherlock felt a rush of anger. Where was Lestrade or Molly helping his friend not starve himself into a twig shaped corpse? Even more so, where was his all seeing brother? Surely his surveillance would have seen this. Sherlock grabbed Watsons phone.

Why aren't you helping him? - SH

Almost immeaditly the phone beeped back.

Sherlock? -MH

Your deductions amaze me. - SH

John refused my help. He spoke only of you. Without you, he had nothing left to live for – MH

You have never let anyone refuse your requests before – SH

Maybe I respect him. Maybe I'm not to blame.- MH

How can I help? - SH

I'll send a car around – MH

SHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWVVSHJWSHJWVVSHJWVVSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWVSHJWSHJWV

Sherlock was back home, looking nervous but less lost. He held a bag of Chinese takeaway with purpose. He would get John eating again. Maybe even get a smile...maybe that was too much to hope for.

John had finally moved from his spot. An empty cup sat in the sink, remnants of tea in it. The tv was quietly running but Johns eyes were not focused on it. He looked pained, as if Sherlock's very presence was too much for him to stand. Sherlock couldn't understand why. Shouldn't John be happy?

Of course he could be wrong...human emotion was always complicated. One of the few things he found difficult to predict. He hoped his offering would be enough.

He had expected Mycroft to laugh at him when he confessed his confusion. Yet his brother had merely smiled and tried to explain what little he knew. He had advised Sherlock bring peace offerings...of course he didn't understand why. Why wouldn't they still be friends? But he would try Mycrofts way. If it worked, what did it matter?

John looked up, smelling the familiar takeaway. For a moment he closed his eyes, lost in a memory of before Sherlock had "died".

Sherlock tried to look confident. "I bet you have never had dinner with a ghost." he joked weakly, half concerned he has gone too far.

John gave him a half smile before joining him at the table. "Why are you being nice?" he asked sharply.

Sherlock flinched at the cold tone. "I guess I feel guilty, I confess I don't understand why but I am trying to find out." he said in a quiet whisper, going for honest.

John seemed to accept that reply.

Sherlock reached in the bag, pulling out a box. "I got your favourite. I remember that you liked it..."he said uneasily. "If it still is."he continued softly.

John's harsh glare seemed to soften as he took the container. A smile crossed his face as he seemed lost in memories again.

When they finished, John started cleaning the table but Sherlock stopped him. "I can do it. Just shower, you might feel better" he said before he could help himself, the tone sounding oddly...caring? Sherlock, motherly?

While John was showering, he grabbed his phone to text.

Your advice may be working. He actually ate. I got him to shower too. I even got a smile. - SH

I'm glad. You must stay strong for him. - MH

I don't know what you mean...-SH

You care about him. This can't be easy.- MH

SHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWVVSHJWSHJWVVSHJWVVSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWVSHJWSHJWV

John made a hasty retreat to his room. It was almost too much...the memories of when Sherlock was alive. Well before he knew Sherlock hadn't died...the distinction was too painful. John had managed to separate his life into 2 parts. Before Sherlock and After Sherlock. Then he had entered a new chapter of his life After Sherlock's Death. As long as the parts did not mix, he was okay. Life made sense. Life wasn't great...far from even good but it was consistent.

Sherlock was Sherlock. Sherlock was brash and arrogant. Sherlock was that know-it-all kid everyone hated at school.

Sherlock didn't do nice...not even for his own brother.

Sherlock being nice, or maybe just the memories of After Sherlock, was stirring his old feelings. When he say the arrogant brash man, he saw more than that. Why couldn't he leave well enough alone? It was frustrating!

He should know better. Really...

SHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWVVSHJWSHJWVVSHJWVVSHJWSHJWSHJWSHJWVSHJWSHJWV

John knew what he had to do. He had to get these feelings off his chest so to speak. Confess his feelings. Wasn't that what his psychiatrist said he should do? Face the feelings. Tell the imaginary Sherlock that he loved him. Of course that was when Sherlock was dead. When it was his ghost that haunted the place not the real deal...

What was the worst Sherlock could do? He knew Sherlock enough to know that he would still be accepted. Hell, Sherlock probably knew! So what was the harm?

That thought sounded good until he realised something. He was assuming that Sherlock would not feel the same...wasn't that true enough? The only person Sherlock had shown any interest in was The Woman. Despite turning the heads of the ladies _and_ the men (of all ages too), he had shown no more than a cursory glance as he read their life story. Hardly love...

Was Sherlock even capable of love? It was cruel to ask but it was not entirely unsupported. He seemed to have little affection for anyone, family or friend. Sure he felt concern and care but love?

John knew he needed to say it. Sherlock probably wouldn't even listen or if he did, he would merely qualify the feelings as nothing more than behaviour conditioning and brain chemicals...or something else sciencey (and probably well above his comprehension).

When he came downstairs he saw Sherlock watching the tv but not focussing on the program at all. Something was bothering him.

"Can I tell you something?...you don't need to react but I just need to say it." he said, his disused voice sounding odd to him.

Sherlock seemed to jump to attention, his sharp silver eyes assessing John. "Well?" he inquired in his smooth baritone voice.

John steeled his nerves. He had faced a war for fucks sake! A simple matter of words should not frighten him. "When I returned to see my psychiatrist, it was after..." he stopped unable to voice the words.

"After my fake suicide" cut in Sherlock's soft voice, holding some measure of guilt.

"Yes, that. She asked me some things. What would I say to you if you were alive. I decided that along time ago but...its harder to say. The thing is...well you changed me. For the better. I was depressed with no purpose. Just another old broken soldier, useless to the army and even more so to civilian society. It was great at first...but it told me why I would never be useful to society and why the army had been so homely." he paused.

Sherlock was still staring intensely at him.

"Your brother was right. You hang around you long enough, you see the battlefield. That I craved the battlefield. No normal person would be so...wrong. Now I can't seem to stop seeing it. I see a mother on the bus and I read her life story too. I know she is running late to mothers and that the baby daddy is an abusive drunk that hasn't paid child support in at least 6 months. I see the happy couple and I know he is cheating on her. Its not easy. But there is something more important than any of that!" he paused for breath.

Sherlock looked surprised at all this. Maybe a little guilty too.

"Sherlock you arrogant sod, I love you. Its easy to see your faults but I see more than that. I see the good, the beginnings of a good man.

AN: R and R as always.


	3. Chapter 3

Aligned perception

 **AN:** I don't own Sherlock, its characters or any related property. I don't own the Sherlock books or its related property. I write to entertain and make no profit from this work.

 **Warnings:** depression, eating difficulty, grief, reference to suicide, reference to male masturbation, slash.

 **Pairings:** Sherlock/John friendship at start then Sherlock/John relationship

 **AN:** This chapter does have sexual overtones but nothing detailed, more humour than smut.

 **START**

Sherlock was stunned into silence. It was unnerving. The man was never without words…

Even if they were mostly brash ones.

His light pink lips were parted slightly. Enough for John to recognise the shock. His intense eyes stared at John, for once without that probing look that found all your secret hiding places. They were static, unsure.

Finally the detective spoke. "Are you sure? This could just be a reaction to seeing me...alive. You want to hang on to me." he said carefully, measuring his words as he spoke. "You don't want me to go. To die again." he finished. Was Sherlock afraid of the reaction his words could get? Concerned for him. Maybe even worried that he would hurt John with such an unconventional relationship?

John shook his head. He let the sting of his love's words fade before he spoke. He knows Sherlock's process. Sherlock is rational above all. Even when showing his care. "I have had lots of time to think. I know what I want. I know what I feel. This is how I feel. "John said confidently.

Sherlock was searching him again. "I believe you. You know how difficult I can be, that I don't understand relationships. Or emotions. You could never have a normal relationship with me. Isn't that what you wanted from those girls you dated before?" Sherlock asked.

"I thought I did. I wondered why I couldn't make it work with them. I wasn't happy. I was...bored. Not bored enough to leave or cheat but I was unhappy."John explained.

"You think I would make you happy?" Sherlock asked disbelievingly.

John laughed before he stop himself. "No. But I wouldn't be bored. I wouldn't be useless. That's close enough for this old soldier" he said honestly, carefully.

Sherlock was thinking, not exactly unsure...well not in the usual way. More processing the data and thinking of the most logical response. Of course emotions were not logical.

John was patient to let him think but still had a burning question. "Do you love me?" he asked softly.

Sherlock looked annoyed, at himself mostly. "I don't really know." he admitted just as softly, looking at the floor. "I guess I never had someone love me enough to find out. There are so many definitions of love...that's the problem I suppose. Love is what you want and need it to be." he finished.

John smiled. How very Sherlock! Always looking to science or books for an answer. "Your right of course. Like bloody always, you git!" he said, the insult playful rather than hurtful. "I'm happy just being needed. Being wanted. Just being around you." he said.

Sherlock smiled to himself. How very like John! "You know I won't ever say I need you. Or want you. I won't reassure you with" he paused thinking "hand holding or kisses on the cheek. I won't even notice your around most of the time. And sharing a bed? That will take some...work" he replied calmly.

"What else can I expect? I know you well enough! I don't want that romantic hand holding crap! I don't want to show the world my partner like they are merely a trophy. Frankly, constant reassurance would be annoying! The more pressing question is this: What would you consider love?" John said with candour.

"I don't know. I guess its...nice...solving crime together. Also that you leave me alone when I want to be! You are significantly less dumb too. Your thinking doesn't annoy me. I like it when you tell me I'm brilliant too." he said as if listing the pros and cons.

Most would have rolled their eyes at this statement. Maybe thrown in an insult of him being "full of himself", "ungreatful" or even just call him pig. Of course John knew better. There was many compliments there – being interesting, being intelligent, and being appreciative of Sherlock's skills.

"I'll let you think on it. No pressure. Nothing would change if you said no." John assured.

"What about sex?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

John blushed, trying to keep a joking 'What? Now?' answer in his mind.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, you can be so immature. Of course not now! I mean, do you need or want sex with me?" he asked bluntly.

John shivered. The question was so forward, it should have been easy to answer. Still he was at a loss, what does one say to that? Yes I want to fuck you but no I'm not a slut. Say no and mean yes, hoping to ease the idea for Sherlock. Say no I don't want sex and wound his ego.

Still the images in his mind were...powerful. Sherlock pushing him down on the bed and – John pinched himself. Save that for his showers!

"Well?" Sherlock asked impatiently. "Are you done with your fantasy yet?" he asked annoyed.

John blushed again. "I wouldn't need sex, but if your comfortable enough...I...ah...wouldn't mind." he said carefully.

Sherlock snorted, clearly amused. "Clearly" he said, the smooth baritone not helping John at all. John once again pushed the fantasy away, reminding himself to take an extra long shower after this. "This would change the parameters of our relationship."Sherlock said, more to himself than John. The detective looked like he was figuring out a hard maths problem. Knowing him he probably was…

"I'll leave you to think about it" the ex army doctor said before leaving for said hot shower. If he didn't 'shower' soon, the talk was going to get awkward...damn his...lower areas.

AN: So will he say yes? Will the Baker St boys get together? Yes that was slightly leaning to smut but that's as far as I will go. I don't usually write smut.


	4. Chapter 4

Aligned perception

 **AN:** I don't own Sherlock, its characters or any related property. I don't own the Sherlock books or its related property. I write to entertain and make no profit from this work.

 **Warnings:** depression, eating difficulty, grief, reference to suicide, reference to male masturbation, slash.

 **Pairings:** Sherlock/John friendship at start then Sherlock/John relationship

START

John was sleeping quite peacefully. It was a nice change from his usual nightmares about the war, about some of their cases _and of course_ Sherlock jumping from that damned hospital!

So when he was shaken awake roughly...urgently, he groaned. As expected Sherlock was standing over him looking impatient. Probably at the fact John hadn't woken immediately. "What now?" John asked irritated, but used to this by now. "Do I need to get my coat?" he asked, this time more calmly.

"Your coat?!" Sherlock questioned, looking at John as if John had gone mad. "Where would one go out in a coat at 3am?" he asked in that same tone.

John couldn't help it. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep but he couldn't hold his tongue. "I don't know! I never know! To chase some lead that _simply cannot wait!_ Or catch some criminal before its too late? Or to show me the _great finale_ to our case?" he said sounding more amused than anything. Maybe a tiny bit annoyed.

"Oh!" exclaimed the detective. "Not tonight, I wanted to ask you something. It was too important to wait for a text so I decided to actually come to your room." he said in grandiose voice. As of this made his request more socially acceptable. Well it was important to Sherlock so...

John sighed, pushing the blanket off him. Immediately he caught a shirt that had been thrown at him. Even after so long, his old military reflexes were there. He ignored the way Sherlock looked both interested and uncomfortable with the scarring on his shoulder. It wasn't the same discomfort others expressed. Others seemed to pity him, want to shower him with praise or just avoided looking entirely. "You done?" he asked pointedly.

Sherlock looked away. "You never showed it to me before. Its more...not good than I expected." he said carefully. "Does it hurt?" he asked softly...dangerously close to caring too.

John shrugged "Not really, not anymore. Sometimes it aches when it gets cold but otherwise..." he said casually.

"Does our..." Sherlock paused, as if figureing out how to ask what he wanted "Do our adventures sometimes make it hurt? Strain your injury?" he asked almost sadly.

"Not very often. When it does, I can handle it. I wasn't in the army for nothing! You think we just stop and take a break if we have a little pain?" he replied half annoyed.

Sherlock was looking almost proud...and maybe like he felt a little bad.

John put the shirt on. "You wanted to ask..." he prompted. He was starting to get concerned...Sherlock didn't get distracted...he didn't get nervous.

"I...uh...wanted to ask why." Sherlock announced, recovering enough of his usual confidence toward the end.

"Why what?" John asked thoroughly confused.

Sherlock was frowning like he did when he couldn't find the words he wanted to.

John seemed to realise it in that instant. "You mean why do I love you?" he asked.

Sherlock was giving him a confused look – like he always did when John did something smart enough to _almost be_ at his level.

"Its kind of obvious that you have had very few relationships. I bet a genius like you got bullied a lot too. Maybe someone asked you out on a dare...your social skills wouldn't be able to tell the difference." John explained.

Sherlock was _still_ giving him that look.

John sighed. "I like you because...because I don't really know. Give me a break! I only just realised this recently!" he exclaimed with frustration. "Maybe its that your brilliant and... _way too good looking_...maybe you just have this something that makes everything exciting again...some 'spark'...maybe I'm greatful for that. Maybe you just being you is it. Loves hard to define, if centuries of poets have failed, what better chance do _I_ have?" he finished.

Sherlock conceded the point. "I'm open to exploring the idea." he said carefully. "I'm not sure I will be as brilliant as usual at it though" he said with a frown.

John laughed. It was quite sweet and adorable in a very Sherlock way. "Love isn't like learning your many skills, its more like learning a language. It takes time and you have to be okay with getting it wrong sometimes. Maybe even a lot." he said softly.

Sherlock was frowning, clearly annoyed. "That sounds...unproductive" he commented sourly.

John nodded. "Yeah, but only if you never learn from your mistakes" he commented. "I'm not an expert either. Thats what a relationship is about, you grow together."

Sherlock seemed satisfied enough with that answer. "Lets keep this between us and the few its...safe to tell. Imagine the leverage a criminal could gain from kidnapping you. Its safer." he said firmly.

John nodded in grim agreement. "Yes, we should be discreet. For both our sakes." he agreed.

Sherlock thought of Molly, Lestrade, John and all others, he had 'died' to protect from Moriarty. Yes discretion would be advised.

SJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJ

Mycroft Holmes had another case for them. Sherlock had pretended not to care, stealing teasing looks at the folder while teasing his brother.

John softly scolded him, Sherlock seemed to relax and smile back. Sherlock even conceded, taking the file and placing it aside.

Mycroft was quietly studying this new behaviour. It was the why that bothered him. He could find no logical reason for it. Was his brother feeling okay? Was his brother on some drug? If he was, surely John would be keeping a closer eye on him. This newness made him nervous. It reminded him too much of… "John, can I speak with you privately?" he asked, staring pointedly at his brother.

Sherlock hesitated but John smiled. John could take care of any trouble.

Mycroft tried to look blank, hiding his confusion. "Do you intend on having a relationship with my brother?" he asked.

John actually snorted at that. "I think you will find that _we are in a relationship_."

"I see, I feel I should inform you that if you hurt him, I can make you disappear. We may not get along, but we are family." Mycroft said coolly. Though that threat was still present.

"I don't intend on hurting Sherlock. I love him." John replied easily.

"You know you cannot treat Sherlock the same as your other partners. He will probably hurt you." Mycroft said bluntly.

"No doubt about it. It will be hard. He will hurt me." John said just as bluntly.

"Then what do you gain?" Mycroft asked sharply.

"I love him, he loves me. Isn't that enough?" John replied annoyed. "Why does that concern you?" he asked back sharply.

Mycroft pursed his lips, a sign he was entirely unhappy with the situation. "I suppose not..." he carefully hedged.

"Good" John declared with satisfaction.

AN: R and R! More coming soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Aligned perception

 **AN:** I don't own Sherlock, its characters or any related property. I don't own the Sherlock books or its related property. I write to entertain and make no profit from this work.

 **Warnings:** depression, eating difficulty, grief, reference to suicide, reference to male masturbation, slash.

 **Pairings:** Sherlock/John friendship at start then Sherlock/John relationship

 **START**

Sherlock was feeling a very unfamiliar feeling. He felt like he had missed something. Something important about John. What had happened after his 'death'?

It was clear that John had not coped. If his medicines and therapy session were any clue. But how far down hill? How bad had his best and only friend been?

He forwned, thinking of an idea. It seemed entirely too personal but since when did he care about that? Since now? What were these... _feelings_?

He grabbed his laptop, easily finding hid friends blog. He quickly found the last entry after their last case.

 _Entry #100_

 _Its with a heavy heart I break this news to you, dear readers. You have followed our blogs for a long time. Sherlock...the great yet incredibly frustrating genius is dead._

 _I imagine a heavy silence after that statement. Thats what I felt. This...nothingness. Like something was missing. Like my best friend. Like our friend._

 _You always ask why. You want to know how. You want to shy away from the pain and yet stare into the sun._

 _I don't know why but I do know that every newspaper will be printing some tosh by morning. Sherlock said or rather tried to convince me that he was responsible for all his cases. That he had killed and solved for glory._

 _He must think I'm stupid._

 _We must stand by him. Even when the masses call for blood. For revenge._

 _So I don't know why._

 _The next thing you look for is proof. Maybe he just happened to fall into a blow up mattress...but alas I must confirm. I saw his body. I must have cried for hours in that damned morgue._

 _He is dead._

 _He is very dead._

 _I'm so sorry._

Sherlock found himself shocked beyond words. His friend had been really hurt. His friend had been really upset. Sherlock had failed to convince the good doctor or his fans of his guilt. He scrolled to the comments. Surely he did not have the dedication this blog implied.

 **Posted by LondonSleuth69**

 _ **What? You can't be serious. After all Sherlock has done for the police...for the families of murdered children...they would believe this? Do they not see?**_

 **Posted by MagnifyTheTruth**

 _ **Are the press and the rest of London stupid? Sure Sherlock is smart enough but even he leaves a pattern.**_

 **Posted by TearfulLove**

 _ **We shall not let them harm his honour! We must keep the truth alive!**_

 **Posted by PurryKitty**

 _ **Agreed Tearful. We shall never forget.**_

Sherlock felt almost embarrassed. He had never been praised for his gift before Lestrade and John. He had been the odd kid. Just a freak. Not even the science geeks wanted him. He decided to go on.

 _Entry #101_

 _Its been a week._

 _My psychiatrist says thing get better with time. Maybe she is right. Maybe not._

 _Does it matter?_

 _She wants me to keep blogging. She think this will be a way of "connecting with social support". Its habit now, even though there will be no more cases. DI Lestrade wants me to keep going. Thinks that some of Sherlock rubbed off on me._

 _Maybe some did but not the genius part. Maybe I can see more than I used to but only he knows 400 types of tobacco on sight or 500 types of perfume. Only he could remember that the victim was drinking one of 700 coffee beans and what cafes stocked this. Or could memorise a whole map._

 _They look at me so lost, like I should be like him. They hope. When I can only provide the smallest details, they look disappointed. Like I should have been him. They don't see me._

Sherlock didn't know how to react. The police were stupid to think his genius would rub off, or that John or any other was half the detective he was. Truth was, he was a rarity. There would be no more Sherlock Holmes in the world.

John must have felt so alone, the weight of Sherlock's supposed genuis on his shoulders. Sherlock knew that weight and had years to adjust to it. But John? That was new to him. No wonder John didn't want to do casework.

Sherlock felt anger at Lestrade...how dare they try make John into him?

 _Entry #102_

 _Its been 2 weeks and 3 days._

 _I have decided that she was wrong. It doesn't get easier. It is too much to bear._

 _Apparently she believed the same, I walked out with a prescription for antidepressants. Whatever._

Well that was abrupt.

 _Entry #103_

 _Dearest fans, I must confess._

 _I will always wait for him. For Sherlock._

 _A man like him doesn't just die. So I won't believe his dead. I won't believe that corpse. A man like him can fake these things all too easily._

 _I will wait._

 _I must wait._

 _I told by psychiatrist that and she thought I was crazy. I saw her writing 'delusions' on her notepad. She offered me pills for it, but I could tell she was thinking I was a danger to myself and others. So to avoid getting put away, I took the pills. She seemed relieved, I pretended to be calmer._

 _Inside I wanted to scream. Will no one believe me?_

 _They will all look pretty stupid when he returns. ALL of them._

Sherlock had to take a moment to process the sheer emotion of it all. John sounded textbook delusional but maybe John was more perceptive than he thought. John _knew_ that Sherlock was alive without knowing exactly how. Even after seeing 'proof' of this 'fact'.

So why was he still taking the medicine? Habit?

Another thought ran through his head, chilling him. Did John start believing that he was having delusions? That maybe his faith was misplaced?

But he knew Sherlock was real now right? Right?

John was watching the tv, a half full cup of tea sitting on the table. It was cold. Watching wasn't the right word, so much as staring was.

"You know I'm real right? I'm not a ghost...or a delusion." Sherlock said uncertianly.

"You used a key to open the door. I don't think delusions can do that." John said impatiently.

"Did no one visit you when I was gone?" he asked.

John's hard eyes softened. "Mrs Hudsen tried. She hasn't charged me for living here though, thats something. Lestrade tried but well he couldn't do much. Mycroft appeared once but he was less than helpful. Wanted me to see some fancy shrink. I almost chucked him out. Thinking money could make up for losing you!"

Sherlock pushed down the strong feelings. He wasn't angry...surely not angry on behalf of another? That was sentiment. And sentiment was weakness. He mentally recalled his brothers disdained voice. "Caring is not an advantage". Said like someone who had never felt a true bond.

"Don't get worked up about him. His a git but his not worth it." John said, sounding almost thankful.

Sherlock smiled at that. John was correct. Imagine that, John the rational one!

"Is this normal?" Sherlock asked. "Feeling..." he stopped to collect his words "like I have wronged you." he finished.

John seemed to be deciding if he was joking or not. "I suppose that depends on what normal is." he said carefully. "Certainly its a common reaction. But your not common."

Sherlock nodded his agreement. "No. Certainly not. Maybe I was on my my own too long." Sherlock said with more confidence than he felt.

John hummed in agreement. "Long enough to miss me? Maybe?" he said, lightly teasing the detective.

Sherlock accepted that as 'your welcome'.

 **AN:** R and R! More coming soon.


End file.
